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Once I was a Navyman.

I like the Navy. I like standing on deck during a long voyage with sea spray
in my face and ocean winds whipping in from everywhere - the feel of the giant
steel ship beneath me, it's engines driving against the sea is almost beyond
understanding. It's immense power makes the Navyman feel so insignificant but
yet proud to be a small part of this ship, a small part of her mission.

I like the Navy. I like the sound of taps over the ships announcing system,
the ringing of the ships bell, the foghorns and strong laughter of Navy men at
work. I like the ships of the Navy - nervous darting destroyers, sleek proud
cruisers, majestic battle ships, steady solid carriers and silent hidden
submarines. I like the workhorse tugboats with their proud Indian names: Iroquois,
Apache, Kiawah and Sioux - each stealthy powerful tug safely guiding the
warships to safe deep waters from all harbors.

I like the historic names of other proud Navy Ships: Midway, Hornet,
Princeton, Sea Wolf and Saratoga. The Ozark, Hunley, Constitution, Missouri, Wichita,
Arizona, Iowa and Manchester, as well as The Sullivan's, Enterprise, Tecumseh,
Cole and Nautilus - all majestic ships of the line. Each ship commanding the
respect of all Navymen that have known Her, or were privileged to be a part of
Her crew.

I like the bounce of Navy music and the tempo of a Navy Band, "Liberty
Whites", "13 Button Blues", the rare 72 hour liberty and the spice scent of a
foreign port - I like shipmates I've sailed with, worked with, served with or have
known; The Gunners Mate from the Iowa cornfields; a Sonarman from the Colorado
mountain country; a pal from Cairo, Alabama; an Italian from near Boston; some
boogie boarders of California; and of course a drawling friendly Oklahoma lad
that hailed from Muskogee; and a very congenial Engineman from the Tennessee
hills.

From all parts of the land they came - farms of the Midwest, small towns of
New England - the red clay area and small towns of the South - the mountain and
high prairie towns of the West - the beachfront towns of the Atlantic, the
Pacific and the Gulf - All are American; all are comrades in arms - All are men
of the sea and all are men of honor.

I like the adventure in my heart when the ship puts out to sea, and I like
the electric thrill of sailing home again, with the waving hands of welcome from
family and friends waiting on shore. The extended time at sea drags; the
going is rough on occasion. But there's the companionship of robust Navy laughter,
the devil-may-care philosophy of the sea. This helps the Navyman - The
remembrances of past shipmates fill the mind and restore the memory with images of
other ships, other ports, and other voyages long past. Some memories are good,
some are not so good but all are etched in the mind of the Navyman - and most
will be there forever.

After a day of work, there is the serenity of the sea at dusk. As white caps
dance on the ocean waves, the sunset creates flaming clouds that float in
folds over the horizon - as if painted there by a master. The darkness follows
soon and is mysterious. The ship's wake in darkness has a hypnotic effect, with
foamy white froth and luminescence that forms never ending patterns in the
turbulent waters. I like the lights of the ship in darkness - the masthead lights,
the red and green sidelights and stern lights. They cut through the night and
appear as a mirror of stars in darkness. There are rough stormy nights, and
calm, quiet, still nights where the quiet of the mid-watch allows the ghosts of
all the Sailors of the world to stand with you. They are abundant and
unreachable, but ever apparent - And there is always the aroma of fresh coffee from
the galley.

I like the legends of the Navy and the Navymen that created those legends. I
like the proud names of Navy Heroes: Halsey, Nimitz, Perry, Farragut, John
McCain, Rickover and John Paul Jones. A man can find much in the Navy - comrades
in arms, pride in his country - A man can find himself and can revel in this
experience.

In years to come, when the Sailor is home from the sea, he will still recall
with fondness the ocean spray on his face when the sea is angry - There will
come a faint aroma of fresh paint in his nostrils, the echo of hearty laughter
of the seafaring men who once were close companions - Now landlocked, he will
grow wistful of his Navy days, when the seas were the largest part of him and
a new port of call was always just over the horizon.

Recalling those days and times, he will stand taller and say: "ONCE I WAS A
NAVYMAN !"